


The Hairy...Chest...Dog...Thing? Oh, Forget It! I'm Calling It Chester!

by animatedrose



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Chester is best friend, Eye-Bone staff, Friendship, Gen, Monster - Freeform, Panic, Science, Survival, from my old fanfiction.net account, living chests, old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animatedrose/pseuds/animatedrose
Summary: Wilson has been stuck on this crazy island for what feels like forever. One day, he comes across a strange bone staff topped with an eye and finds himself being pursued by a tiny horned beast that refuses to stop chasing him. How can a scientist at the end of his mental rope handle this new development?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	The Hairy...Chest...Dog...Thing? Oh, Forget It! I'm Calling It Chester!

Wilson had lost track of how long he had been trapped on this…island, for lack of a better term. Many, many nights had passed. It definitely had to have been a few weeks, if not months, since he woke up here.

He had yet to encounter Maxwell again, though Wilson was grateful for that. Maxwell's presence hadn't been very…inviting, to say the least. There was something extremely malicious about the man. The disappearing-into-shadows trick had also put the scientist off. Something about Maxwell wasn't normal…wasn't human…

Wilson had managed to set up a good routine since then. Though he'd struggled horribly those first few nights, he could now say with confidence that he had what it took to survive in the wilderness with nothing but his intellect. That _and_ his inventions, like his lovely Science Machine.

By routine, he meant his day routine, of course. Nights were spent close to his fire, waiting patiently for dawn. The scientist would admit to running on very little sleep, if only because of the hounds that harassed him infrequently. Wilson wasn't risking a nap while those brutes were running around his camp.

He'd taken to exploring the areas further from his camp. While the pine trees proved to be a safe haven, there were resources elsewhere that he desperately required if he wished to stay alive in this world. The most important was, of course, food. Maxwell had made that very clear during their first and only encounter.

Thus, that was what Wilson was doing now—searching for food. Rabbits were plentiful in the nearby field but he was running low on carrots and berries. He could never guarantee that his traps would work. Sometimes the rabbits outsmarted him, dodging the trap set precariously over their burrows and escaping time and time again. Until he could invent something better, he needed an alternate source of food for the instance where rabbits weren't available.

There was a dirt path winding through the trees south of his camp. Curiosity begged to be sated, so he'd taken to following it during his daily treks for supplies. He'd yet to reach the end of it. Night would always fall before he could go too far and he didn't feel confident enough to survive outside of the safety of his camp. He didn't have nearly enough supplies stocked up for such a decision. The path's end point currently remained a mystery to him, regrettably.

 _One day,_ Wilson vowed. _When I have more supplies and a more sufficient way of surviving the nights outside of camp, then I'll find the end of that road._

This world was full of mysteries that tugged at the scientist's intellect and sense of logic. More than once, he'd been forced to backpedal and remind himself that he was there due to illogical means. He forced himself to accept the belief that anything could happen…and likely would. He had yet to run into something that he'd predicted ahead of time.

It had been three nights after the last hound attack that he came across the oddest thing…

.o.o.o.o.

Wilson had taken to following the dirt path again, searching the bordering biomes for food and other useful resources. Just as he neared the furthest point he'd reached on the path, something stood out against the green of the trees. Something Wilson couldn't recall seeing before. He was pretty sure he'd have recognized it if he had seen it sometime in the past.

It was a strange staff, the bottom end stuck in the ground. As Wilson approached, he was disgusted to realize it was a bone, stark white and picked clean of any flesh. Atop it sat a bulbous eye, which swiveled and twitched as it took in its surroundings. It locked onto him momentarily before its gaze flitted to a red bird that landed nearby.

Wilson, disturbed by it, quickly ran back to camp. He marked the location in his mind, deciding to return the next day and see if the odd Eye-Bone staff remained.

Four days passed and the Eye-Bone remained in its place, unmoving and seemingly harmless. The eye watched him each time he approached before it got distracted by something else, unable to pay attention to one single thing for very long. Gathering his courage, Wilson moved as close as he could…and pulled the Eye-Bone free of the earth, holding it away from him in both hands.

Nothing happened. No lightning strike, no monstrous roaring of some horrible flesh-hungry beast, nothing of the sort. Wilson lowered the Eye-Bone, looking around curiously. The trees swayed in the breeze but nothing emerged to attack him for disturbing the object. The world was as it had been since he was first dropped into it—frightening quiet and still.

Deeming the Eye-Bone safe to keep, Wilson made a mad dash for home. The sky was darkening and he did not wish to be out at night. He had done that once and cursed himself dearly for it. A mysterious beast hidden in the blackness had viciously bitten and attacked him, fleeing once he'd pulled out a torch. He'd never caught a glimpse of it and, honestly, he did not care to. He never intended to run into it again, not if he could possibly help it.

The camp was up ahead, inviting him to safety. Wilson's smile grew and he quickened his pace…and heard grass crunch behind him. Something was breathing, hard and swift like a dog panting, just behind him.

Wilson whirled around. A small orange puff ball with horns atop its head was pursuing him, short legs flinging itself forward in a bouncing-hop fashion. It was slow, a good distance behind him, but it showed no signs of dropping its pursuit of him. It came up the path, determined to reach him no matter how far it had to go.

Wilson shoved the Eye-Bone into one of his belt loops, pulling grass and twigs from his pockets. If he lit his fire quickly, perhaps it would leave. If worst came to worst, he had a spear that he could use to defend himself with. It was badly damaged from fending off hounds but this beast was small, so perhaps the weapon could handle the stress of battle one last time.

Reaching his camp, he flung the tinder into the fire pit and watched it erupt into a mighty flame. Moving for his chest, Wilson was horrified to find the little beast already too close. He'd never get his spear in time to defend himself! So he resorted to the only other tactic he had left.

He ran around his camp, screaming like a girl. The beast hopped after him doggedly, tongue lolling from its jaws. Wilson was unsure how long he pointlessly ran for, doing laps around the camp until night fell and darkness engulfed all but his camp, lit by the fire that was starting to shrink due to neglect. He would need to put more twigs on it soon. That would require him to stop running.

Mind so full of plans for how to outwit the beast, he never noticed it stopping its pursuit until he tripped over it, crashing to the ground. Pain shot through his chin and neck, hands screaming from being scraped on the rock-filled dirt. He lay there for several minutes, dazed and exhausted and in a good deal of pain. When he finally recovered enough to sit up and assess his injuries, he jolted when the beast gave a low whimper.

It just sat there—lay there perhaps? It seemed to have more of paws than legs, so the way it was positioned suggested it was lying by the fire rather than sitting. It had no eyes and its mouth seemed more like a flip-top lid than a jaw, it stretched around the whole length of its head—body? Again, there seemed to be no direct distinction. It was like a fluffy orange head with four paws attached to its underside.

The beast just lay there, breathing heavily. It must've been exhausted from chasing him around. It displayed no aggression toward Wilson, especially in light of him tripping over it. And the noise it made seemed more like a dog's whine for attention than a sign of malice.

Keeping an eye on it, Wilson tossed more twigs on the flames to keep his fire going. He huddled on the other side of the fire pit, watching the beast through the dancing curtain of heat. It appeared to fall asleep, making raspy noises akin to snores. Wilson remained awake, as he usually did, and waited for morning to arrive before he dared make a move against the beast.

.o.o.o.o.

It was still following him.

The moment Wilson left the camp, the beast had begun its pursuit once more. No matter how hard or fast he ran, he couldn't seem to lose the determined creature. It stayed hot on his trail no matter where he went, even when Wilson bravely darted through the swamp and through a spider's nest.

He'd begun dropping some of his tools, resources, and miscellaneous items in hopes that they would deter it. He lost a good portion of his haul from his grave robbing exploits, things he could've given to the local Pig King for gold to build more inventions with. The beast didn't even stop to sniff any of them.

Nothing convinced it to seek alternative prey. It would only have him.

The sky was darkening again. Wilson, out of breath and unable to come up with anymore plans, collapsed to the ground and gave up. If the beast wanted him dead that badly, it could have him. He was sick of this world, anyway. He had nothing left to give. He was too tired to keep running.

Maybe if he died here, he'd wake up back home in his cabin and this would all prove to be some messed up dream caused by reading too many science fiction novels.

He waited for teeth to sink into his pale flesh. Waited for the ripping and tearing to start. The snarling and crunching of bone as it tore him apart for its dinner. The spilling of his blood on the green grass beneath him.

Something warm and wet dragged against his face.

Oh, perfect. It planned to decapitate him first. Good, maybe he'd be sufficiently dead before it began devouring him.

A loud whine, identical to the one the beast had issued the night before, sounded close to his ear.

Wilson cracked an eye open. The little monster was right there, tongue lolling from its mouth. There was slobber on his face. It had licked him. Disgusting! Beyond that, the beast didn't move toward him in any way. It just perched there, panting heavily, hot gusts of air rushing across Wilson's face.

Another whine escaped it. Wilson raised a hand to wipe the saliva from his face. It didn't feel like it was dissolving his skin or anything. He moved slowly until he was on his hands and knees. The beast gave another whine, seemingly…afraid?

The shadows were stretched long and thin over him. Nightfall was coming. The night monster would be there soon.

Getting to his feet, Wilson cautiously moved around the beast. It pivoted, following him. Wilson headed up the path. The beast hopped after him, issuing another whine.

Reaching the camp, he built up his fire and sat down by it. The beast paused nearby, panting. Darkness fell and the beast whined again.

"Here, boy," Wilson offered nervously, patting the grass beside him.

The beast reacted instantly, hopping over and snuggling against his leg. The beast was warm and its fur was soft, if a bit filthy, Wilson learned as he cautiously touched it. There was no aggression coming from the beast. It snuggled and gave gurgled noises of pleasure at the petting, like an excited puppy.

"You're…not going to hurt me, are you?" Wilson guessed.

The beast snuggled close. Wilson accepted that as a 'yes' and relaxed. Yet another thing he hadn't predicted—running into a friendly soul in this crazed world.

Petting the beast, he waited the night out and thought. The beast had appeared immediately after he'd picked up the Eye-Bone. Perhaps the creature was tied to it somehow? A test for tomorrow, surely.

Why would such a creature be present in such a world? Everything thus far had been intent on killing him. Why would Maxwell suddenly send something friendly his way? Was this a reward for surviving so long? Was it even Maxwell who sent it?

Wilson resolved not to think of it anymore. Whether it was Maxwell or not, he now had someone to call friend. That much he was grateful for. It was getting far too lonely in this big world for just him alone.

.o.o.o.o.

His test yielded the results he had thought—the beast reacted when the Eye-Bone was moved. If Wilson left it in a chest, the creature stayed in camp and ceased to follow him. If he kept it on his person, the creature followed after him in the same manner it had the previous two days since he'd first encountered it.

At its insistent whining, Wilson kept the Eye-Bone on him and headed out that morning for another supply run. Retrieving everything he had dropped the day before as test-deterrent for his newfound companion, he proceeded to search for more food and materials to build a new spear. His old one had broken during a failed attempt to kill a turkey earlier in the day.

Even armed with a backpack, Wilson found himself quickly running out of room to carry his supplies. He'd chanced upon a patch of rocks with golden bits, mining himself a good chunk of gold and other rocks. On his way back to camp, he was distraught to see that his rabbit traps were successful…but night was coming and he'd never have time to run between the camp and his trap site to collect them.

"Curse long-distance running!" Wilson hissed bitterly.

A low whine brought his attention to the beast, which pawed at his leg.

"What?" Wilson asked. "I can't understand you, you know."

Another whine as it darted between him and the traps, jaws and tongue flapping. Wilson sighed, shaking his head. Perhaps he didn't want to know what it was saying, after all.

With a snort, the beast perked up and dove down on a pile of seeds nearby. Wilson jumped, staring in shock as the seeds were devoured, vanishing down its gullet in seconds. He'd never seen it eat before. He suddenly feared for his meager supply of food.

 _Maybe I should get rid of this Eye-Bone. I can barely feed myself. How can I feed this thing too?_ Wilson wondered nervously, fingers curling around the bone of the staff.

The beast bounded over to him, panting. Wilson flinched, stepping back. Did it plan to eat him too? Were the seeds not as delicious as fresh scientist meat?

His fear turned to shock when the beast's flip-top upper jaw popped open. The seeds lay at the bottom of its mouth, dry and intact. They had not been digested. Now that Wilson could see it, there was no sign of any kind of organs and life-sustaining internal systems. It was like a…living chest…

Pulling twigs and grass from his pockets, Wilson experimentally dropped them into the beast's open mouth—head? Body? He didn't even know anymore. When he stepped back, the creature's jaw snapped closed. It gave a sneeze but beyond that, it acted normally until he approached it, petals in his hand. The jaw flipped open, twigs and grass intact still.

"Great Newton, you're a walking chest," Wilson stated dumbly.

All thoughts of disposing of the Eye-Bone were quickly crushed. Deciding to take a risk, he deposited a few more items into the chest-beast and collected his daily catch, along with some more quick supplies he spotted along the way home. The creature didn't complain even once, merrily bouncing after him as it always had.

.o.o.o.o.

Putting together his new spear by the flames, Wilson eyed the beast with a friendly smile. Night had fallen once more but now, it suddenly seemed less threatening. The chest-beast stayed by his side as he tied a hunk of sharpened flint to a twig, fashioning another spear to replace the one he'd lost.

"Chester."

The beast shifted, giving a low noise. Wilson smiled, putting his spear down and stroking the beast's fur. It snuggled closer, almost purring.

"I'll call you Chester. How about that?"

The beast gave a pleased whine, rising to bump his hand. The scientist laughed, petting the beast. Chester settled down at his side again, tongue wagging against his knee.

Wilson had a feeling that this would be the start of a beautiful and long-lasting friendship between them. He prayed it never ended. He wasn't sure he could take being all alone again.


End file.
